‘It is unnecessary. Enda knows where we are going. While we are away I want someone here just in case Brother Eadulf tries to make contact with us.’
Dego helped her saddle her horse while Enda re-saddled his mount.
‘Where shall you be,’ Dego asked, ‘just in case anything happens?’
‘We are visiting a woman called Deog who lives in a place called Raheen some six kilometres north from here. But do not let anyone know.’
‘Of course not, lady.’
They mounted, setting off at a brisk walk through the streets of Fearna. Enda led the way underneath the towering grey walls of the gloomy abbey buildings, past the walls along the banks of the river as it twisted northwards. Then he took a fork in the road which led up a slow incline over a hill and through a small wooded area, no bigger than a copse.
Here Fidelma called on Enda to halt for a moment. She turned back to the edge of the trees and shrubs which afforded a view of the road behind them and waited quietly for some time, leaning forward in the saddle, just behind the foliage of the trees.
Enda did not have to ask what she was doing. If anyone was following them they would soon be seen from this position. Fidelma waited a long while before letting out a sigh of relief. She smiled at Enda.
‘It seems my fears are groundless. No one is tracking us at the moment.’
Without a word, Enda turned and set off again through the copse and then along a track between a series of cultivated fields towards a more densely forested area which covered the rising hills beyond.
‘What is that big hill in front of us, Enda?’ asked Fidelma, as they moved upwards on the track.
‘That’s the very hill after which our host’s inn is named. That is the Yellow Mountain. We turn more easterly in a moment and come round the shoulder of the hill before turning north again towards Raheen. It stands at the head of a valley and is not a long ride away at all.’
Within a short time, as the bright autumnal sky was beginning to cloud and grow dark, showing that late afternoon was creeping on, Enda halted and pointed. They were at the head of a valley stretching southwards towards the river. Here, dotted across the hillside, were several cabins with dark smoke ascending. It was obviously a farming community.
‘Do you see that far cabin, lady?’
Fidelma followed the line of his pointing finger.
A small cabin clung to the precipitous slope of the hillside. It was not an impoverished place but neither did it speak of any degree of wealth or position. It was made of thick grey granite stone and covered by a heavy thatch that was badly in need of renovation.
‘I see it.’
‘That is the woman Deog’s cabin; the cabin that Abbess Fainder and Bishop Forbassach visited.’
‘Very well. Let us see what Deog has to contribute to our enquiries.’ Fidelma nudged her horse forward and, with Enda following, she rode directly for the cabin that he had indicated.
The occupant of the cabin obviously heard their arrival, for as they were dismounting and hitching their horses to a small fence which marked the boundaries of a vegetable garden in front of the building, the door opened and a woman came out. She was preceded by a large hound who ran towards them but was checked by a sharp command from the woman. She was not yet of middle age but her face seemed so etched with lines of worry and concern that at first glance she seemed older than her years. Her eyes were pale, probably grey rather than blue. She was dressed simply, as a countrywoman, and her appearance was that of someone hardened to the elements. To Fidelma there seemed something curiously familiar about the features. But Fidelma’s scrutiny was swift and also encompassed the dog who, she discerned, was elderly but keen to defend his mistress.
The woman came forward in concern as her eyes fell on Fidelma.
‘Have you come from Fainder?’ she demanded without preamble, obviously taking in the fact that Fidelma wore the robes of a religieuse.
Fidelma was surprised at the anxiety in her voice.
‘Why would you imagine that?’ she parried.
The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are a religieuse. If Fainder has not sent you here, who are you?’
‘My name is Fidelma. Fidelma of Cashel.’
The woman’s features visibly hardened and her mouth tightened. ‘So?’
‘It seems that you have heard my name,’ observed Fidelma, interpreting the other’s reactions correctly.
‘I have heard your name spoken.’
‘Then you know that I am a
‘That I know.’
‘It is growing dark and cold. May we come into your cabin and speak with you for a while?’
The woman was hesitant but finally inclined her head in invitation to the cabin door.
‘Come in then, though I am not sure what we can speak about.’
She led the way into the large single living room of the cabin. The hound, seeing no danger threatened, went quickly before them. A log fire snapped and crackled in the hearth at the far corner of the room. The old hound spread himself before it, head resting on his paws, but a half-closed eye was still fixed warily on them.
‘Sit yourselves down,’ invited the woman.
They waited until she had chosen a seat by the fire and then Fidelma sat opposite her while Enda perched uncomfortably on a stool near the door.
‘Well now, what do you wish to talk about?’
‘I am told that your name is Deog?’ Fidelma began.
‘I will not deny it for that is the truth of it,’ replied the woman.
‘And was Daig the name of your husband?’
‘May the good Lord be merciful to his soul, but that was his name. What business had you with him?’
‘He was one of the watch on the quays in Fearna, I believe?’
‘Captain of the watch, he was, after Mel received promotion to the royal guard of the King. Captain of the watch, though he did not live long to enjoy it.’ Her voice caught and she let out a sniff.
‘I am sorry for your trouble, Deog, but I need to have some answers to my questions.’
The woman controlled herself with an effort. ‘I have heard that you have been asking questions. You are a friend of the Saxon, I am told.’
‘What do you know about … about the Saxon?’
‘I know only that he was tried and sentenced for killing a poor young child.’
‘Nothing else? Not whether he be guilty or innocent?’
‘Would he be innocent when he has been condemned by the Brehon of Laigin?’
‘He was innocent,’ Fidelma replied shortly. ‘And there seem to be too many deaths on the quays by the abbey to be a coincidence. Tell me about the death of your husband, for example.’
The woman’s face was immobile for a moment or two and her paleeyes searched Fidelma for some hidden meaning to her words. Then she said: ‘He was a good man.’
‘I do not question it,’ replied Fidelma.
‘They told me that he had drowned.’
‘They?’
‘Bishop Forbassach.’
‘Forbassach told you, in person? You move in illustrious circles, Deog. Exactly what did Bishop Forbassach say?’
‘That during the night watch, Daig slipped off the wooden quay and fell into the river, catching his head on one of the piers and knocking himself unconscious. He was found next morning by a boatman from the
Fidelma leaned forward a little. ‘And were there witnesses to this?’
Deog regarded her in bewilderment. ‘Witnesses? Had anyone been nearby, then he would not have drowned.’
‘So how are these details known?’
‘Bishop Forbassach told me that it must have been that way, for that is the only way it could have happened
